


Meditation

by technicolortidepods



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, getting drunk and getting laid are how beau deals with problems so here we are, molly's death is mentioned, spoilers for episode twenty-seven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:59:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolortidepods/pseuds/technicolortidepods
Summary: Plagued by thoughts of Molly and her kidnapped friends, Beau deals with emotions she can't articulate the only way she knows how. It works, kind of.Spoilers for episode twenty-seven, an interpretation of Beau's night at The Landlocked Lady.





	Meditation

Beau couldn’t think straight.

She was exhausted and still shivering from the chill that set into her bones after camping in the middle of the snowstorm the night before. Beau considered herself a relatively tough person, but the events of the past few days had finally caught up with her. More than once she caught herself replaying the fight with the Iron Shepherds again and again in her mind. Again and again, Lorenzo’s glaive pierced Molly’s chest. Again and again, the light snowfall that dusted the ground was stained crimson. Again and again, Beau could do nothing but watch. 

Though she was currently alone in her room at The Landlocked Lady, there was no escaping the company of her own intrusive thoughts. Thoughts of those clear red eyes that never shut, even as the light left them and the technicolor coat that hung on a post at the foot of the hill. The body buried beneath it, wrapped in a ridiculous blue and silver tapestry. The body that could very well have been her own, had Molly not intervened. Gods, he was the reason she was alive right now. She was sitting on a bed, slowly getting drunk on sour ale and still breathing, all thanks to him. Molly was a good, kind person, despite his flaws and eccentricities. He deserved better than a frozen grave in the middle of nowhere. As far as Beau was concerned, it should be her in his place.

Beau could remember how the monks taught of lifting that weight in the back of her head through meditation; the value and peace that came with letting the mind go completely blank. Back at the Cobalt Soul, she had written off their teachings as all talk, having little to no patience for any kind of authority, especially a bunch of weirdos in robes telling her how to sit and breathe. But now, Beau found herself wishing she paid a little more attention. She was ninety-nine percent sure it was all bullshit, but if there was any chance whatsoever that sitting criss-crossed and thinking about nothing would miraculously make everything okay again, then she was willing to try. 

Letting out a sigh, Beau shifted her body so that she sat cross-legged on the bed, her hands resting palms up on her knees. With a deep breath that was shakier than she expected, she closed her eyes, trying to imagine that state of total tranquility and bliss the monks had preached about. As she exhaled, she tried to focus on nothing but the physical sensation of air exiting her lungs. For the next few minutes, Beau continued the pattern; inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, and tried to ignore the ache in her chest that had nothing to due with breathing.

Eventually, Beau gave up with a groan of frustration, throwing herself against the silken yet worn pillows on the bed. This was bullshit. Did she honestly expect that a few deep breaths would suddenly solve all her problems? That it would bring Molly back? No, Beau had a better remedy for that. She reached for a large bottle of some dark liquid she couldn’t identify on the bedside table. Of course, it wouldn’t really change anything; Molly would still be lying in the dirt and snow, Yasha, Jester, and Fjord would still be in cages, but at least Beau could push them out of her mind for a little while. She could deal with all that in the morning. Right now, she needed to get wasted.

The liquor smelt sharp as Beau uncorked it and brought the bottle to her nose. Oh yeah, this was definitely going to get her where she needed to be faster than that ale would. She took a ragged breath and a generous sip from the bottle. It stung as it went down, leaving her mouth and throat feeling hot and raw. She winced and coughed and took another sip. The curvy, elegant writing on the label of the bottle didn’t match the harsh flavor of the liquid inside it. A false air of sophistication, thinly masking something much sharper and uglier. Not unlike The Landlocked Lady itself. 

The stench of lavender that followed Beau from the brothel’s entrance to her room made her nose itch. It reminded her of Jester; she had her own little bottle of lavender perfume that her mother sent her back when they all spent the night at The Pillow Trove. Beau remembered watching Jester open the little glass bottle, inhaling the fragrant air every night before she went to sleep. The scent reminded Beau of Molly too, who had purchased a small container of lavender oil from the apothecary back in the Labenda Swamps for probably more than it was worth. Soon, her eyes began to itch just as much as her nose.

Beau took another swig from the bottle of liquor to prevent any more angry tears from falling. She wouldn’t be able to clear her mind through meditation, that was true, but she found alcohol a more reliable distraction from the guilt and anger gnawing at her heart anyway. The feelings were sure to return the next morning, along with a bitch of a hangover, but at least for now, Beau could pretend the lightweight numbness that spread throughout her body was something peaceful.

It was difficult to gauge how much time exactly had passed since she began drinking, but regardless, a substantial amount of liquor was missing from the bottle and Beau was certainly drunk. She wasn’t in danger of vomiting, not yet anyway, but the full effect of whatever was in that bottle had only just begun to kick in. She felt light and weightless and pleasantly warm as she lay back against the bed’s wooden headboard and soft pillows, enjoying the physical sensations of her surroundings. Beau undid the ribbon that held up her hair, running her fingers through it as she let it fall past her shoulders. The sides were getting a little too long for a proper undercut, and Beau absentmindedly made a note to ask Yasha to trim them for her after they got her back. She could imagine the cool press of the metal of Yasha’s greatsword at the back of her head and the look of acute concentration coloring her striking features. Beau hummed softly as a sigh escaped her lips. Just thinking about Yasha’s body in close proximity to her own, with her hands near her neck and face, triggered a rush of warmth to her cheeks and stomach. Her toes clenched and released the silky sheets as Beau arched her back, stretching her body, feeling her muscles finally relax. She silently prayed to gods; to Ioun, to the Stormlord, hell, even to the Traveler, that Yasha and the others would be returned to them safely. Losing Molly nearly broke her, Beau wasn’t sure if she could handle losing someone else.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. Beau rose from the bed, momentarily confused as to why anyone would be at her door so late. As she walked over, feeling light on her feet thanks to her inebriated state, she noticed for the first time how heavy Molly’s tarot cards weighed in the pocket of her vest. The brass doorknob felt cold under her fingers as she twisted it, opening the door, and Beau suddenly remembered the reason for her evening visitor.

The woman standing before her didn’t look much older than she was, but judging by the long pointed ears and the specific, unique bone structure, she must have been an elf of some kind. Beau didn’t know a damn thing about how elven aging worked, but it was very possible that the woman was anywhere from a hundred to two hundred years older than her. Oh wow, that was hot. Beau looked her up and down, drinking in the sight of amber skin barely covered by a negligee that left little to imagination, and pale blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail atop her head. 

“Uhh… Hi?” The simple greeting came out more like a question, her mind clouded by alcohol and a million thoughts. Beau was usually much better at this. She wasn’t amazing with women, or with people in general, but this wasn’t her first drunk rendezvous in the room of an unnamed tavern with a beautiful unnamed stranger. “What’s your name?” she asked. 

The elven woman smiled knowingly, meeting Beau’s wandering gaze with hooded eyes. “Vorsa,” she replied. Her accent was distinctly northern; Beau couldn’t remember coming across anyone notable within the Empire that shared that particular lilt to their voice. It reminded her a little of Caleb, and she vaguely wondered if Vorsa spoke any Zemnian.

Beau couldn’t wonder for very long however, as Vorsa placed a hand on her chest and gently pushed her into the room. Okay, this was actually happening. Beau let herself be pushed a few steps back before Vorsa stepped away and closed the door.

“We have an hour, yes?”

Beau nodded vigorously, words failing her as Vorsa loosened the ties of her sheer dressing gown.

“Then we will make the most of it.”

And with that Beau found herself holding Vorsa’s body against her own as the woman strode towards her, crashing their lips together. Vorsa kissed her hard and without shame, opening her mouth to take Beau’s lower lip between her teeth gently, her breath warm and sweet.

After a few backwards steps, Beau felt the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed and sat down, pulling Vorsa into her lap, trying best she could not to break contact with her soft, glossy lips. Gods, it had been so long since she had been kissed like that. She moved her hands up and down Vorsa’s back, going as far as to slip her fingers beneath the sheer fabric that clung to her body. Vorsa squirmed on top of her, moving to straddle Beau’s thighs as she tangled her fingers in Beau’s now loose hair. Beau let out a gasp as Vorsa tugged gently at a handful of hair near Beau’s scalp and scratched lightly at the nape of her neck. Her sudden intake of air was met by the press of a smile against the corner of Beau’s mouth and cheek in response.

“You enjoyed that, yes?” Vorsa’s voice was suggestive and melodic, pulling her face away from Beau’s slightly.

“Very much so,” Beau whispered back, the breathlessness in her reply betraying any hope she had in maintaining some kind of upper hand in this encounter. She couldn’t believe she was giving in to this woman so easily. Usually, she put up more of a fight when it came to this kind of thing. The back-and-forth battle for dominance, the prolonged yet inevitable conquest, that was the kind of sex that excited Beau the most. But right now, she was drained and exhausted and couldn’t bring herself to fight back. Especially not when Vorsa’s body felt so good against her own.

Vorsa hummed in approval, guiding Beau’s hands to slide the straps of her negligee off her shoulders. She pulled her arms through, letting the thin dressing gown fall at her waist, exposing her breasts. “And what, if I may ask, is your name?” she asked, pleased by the look of sudden shock and desire written on her lover’s face.

“Uh, Beauregard,” Beau responded with some delay, blinking and trying her best to focus on Vorsa’s face instead of her chest. “But, uh, my friends call me Beau,”

“Well, Beau,” Vorsa began, her voice barely above a whisper as she pushed against Beau’s shoulders, prompting her to lay down on the bed before pressing her lips to the shell of her ear and continuing, “I think we are going to become very good friends this evening.”

Beau shuddered at the way her name sounded in Vorsa’s heavy, northern drawl, and tried not to think about how it would sound in a slightly different, Xhorhasian accent. She dug her nails into the soft flesh of Vorsa’s shoulders, pretending she didn’t wish they were broader and paler and more muscular as she tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Vorsa took that that as an invitation to attack the exposed skin of her neck with kisses and bites, trailing from Beau’s jaw to her collarbone. As one of Vorsa’s hands continued down her body to stroke delicate patterns on the exposed skin of Beau’s stomach, Beau tried not to think about the warmth that had surged through her when another set of hands, bigger and coursing with healing magic, touched her skin less than a week before.

“I can… I can leave marks, yes?” Vorsa asked, in between kisses, at the part of her neck where Beau’s pulse was beating rapidly.

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah please do.” Beau responded absently, halfway between the real world and her harmless, self-indulgent fantasy.

Vorsa suddenly pulled away from the soft bruises beginning to form on Beau’s neck. “You are thinking too much, Beauregard,” Vorsa said, cupping her cheek and moving up her body to stare into piercing, distant blue eyes. “Is there something on your mind that you wish to speak about?”

And damn it, for a split second, Beau wanted to tell her everything.

She wanted to tell her about Kiri, how a month ago Beau would have walked right past the sounds of distress coming from the swamp without a second thought. About how she learned to care for that little bird girl and found her a nice, loving home, which was more than Beau ever had growing up.

She wanted to tell her about Nila, how she blindly trusted Beau and the others to help her on her quest for vengeance, and about how afraid she was of leading another good, innocent person to their death.

She wanted to tell her about Fjord and Jester, her first real friends, and all the adventures and happy times they had shared together. About how they were currently rotting away in cages and could be dead as far as she knew, while Beau was in a gaudy brothel, paying for booze and sex and a warm place to sleep.

She wanted to tell her about Keg, how she led Beau and her friends into an unwinnable fight that claimed Molly’s life. How Beau went from wanting to fuck her to wanting to kill her to being somewhere between the two in the span of a few short days. How as much as she wanted to hate her, Keg had put her life on the line for four strangers in the woods and saved the lives of three of them.

She wanted to tell her about Nott and Caleb, about the secrets and circumstances that bound the three together indefinitely. About the sense of self-loathing that burned inside of each of them like one of Caleb’s fires. How they used the broken pieces of their past families to build a new one in each other. About the survivor’s guilt that weighed like a body and cut like a glaive through the chest.

She wanted to tell her about Yasha, and the many nights Beau lay awake in her bedroll, thinking about her soft voice and the curious gaze of her mismatched eyes. Imagining being held in her warm, strong embrace and what her gentle, calloused hands would feel like on her bare body. About how much Beau cared for her and how scared she was of losing her, of turning the corner to find her bound body dead on the side of the street. About the vow she made to destroy Lorenzo for ever harming Yasha and the rage that consumed her whenever she thought about it.

She wanted to tell her about Molly. About getting high with him in the graveyard, about him using his weird blood magic to cure her hangover in Hupperdook, about drawing cards and sharing secrets by the fire, about him rushing up to Lorenzo to protect her without thinking, about his last bloody curse and his eyes that never shut. There was more, there was so much more she wanted to say about him but Beau was afraid that once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

Her best bet was to just stop thinking. It was those shitty, unwanted thoughts and memories that were causing her to hurt like this. If she just pushed them away to a deep, dark place inside of her, just for an hour or two, focusing instead on the welcome touch and soft weight of the woman on top of her, maybe all this would stop. Maybe then, her racing mind would finally settle, reaching that illustrious, calm state she had heard so much about.

“Nah, nah, it’s my shit, I’ll be fine.” Beau said, meeting Vorsa’s inquiring gaze, hoping her words were convincing enough for the both of them. She held Vorsa by the waist and pulled her down closer, pressing their hips together. “I just really, really, don’t want to think right now.”

If Vorsa at all doubted the validity of Beau’s response, she didn’t act on it.

She instead murmured something in a language Beau didn’t understand and pressed her face back into the crook of Beau’s neck, continuing the assault of hard, open kisses as she moved to take off Beau’s vest. She let out a breathy whimper as Beau’s hands wandered from her waist, to her hips, to her ass, squeezing and scraping at the soft flesh she found there. Once she had relieved Beau of her outer layer of clothing, Vorsa moved her lips lower down the dark skin of Beau’s chest, drawing out moans other encouraging sounds from her lover. She stopped only when she reached the fabric of Beau’s crop top, pulling away briefly to remove the last barrier of clothing between their upper bodies.

“Think in the morning then, yes?” Vorsa whispered against Beau’s mouth before kissing her deeply, feeling the breath leave Beau’s lips. She moved her hands to her shoulders, gently massaging the place where they met Beau’s collarbone with her thumbs, before continuing downward to cup her small, firm breasts. “Focus on me right now, Beauregard. I promise, I will take good care of you tonight.”

And Beau tried. She really did. She did her best to give into the sensation of Vorsa’s insistent tongue and slender, practiced fingers on her nipples, closing her eyes and trying to concentrate on the dull, but growing heat between her legs. When Vorsa’s warm mouth ventured further down to nip and kiss at Beau’s abs and stomach, Beau pulled Vorsa’s long, platinum blonde hair from her ponytail, focusing on how the silky tresses felt tangled up in her hands. She didn’t try to stifle her moans or gasps, making sure her companion knew how totally okay she was with all this, just submitting herself to the feeling of it all. And when Beau’s loose pants and smallclothes were finally removed, discarded somewhere in the room along with Vorsa’s negligee, she did her best to swallow down her guilt and anger and a billion other things and think about the lazy patterns of Vorsa’s tongue over her clit and how her nails pinched blissfully sharp at her thighs. Beau tried to steady her ragged breaths approaching and after her orgasm, closing her mind to everything but the repetition of inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. It was as close to meditation as she was ever going to get.

She even tried to reciprocate, out of habit more than anything else, sitting up against the headboard, kissing and murmuring encouraging words against Vorsa’s neck as her companion straddled her, bucking and riding Beau’s fingers until she came. Beau knew she didn’t have to do that, it wasn’t what she paid for or anything, but Beau was operating on autopilot, disassociating from everything but touch. Before the hour was up, Vorsa had managed to coax two more orgasms from Beau’s shuddering body, leaving her totally spent and wrapped in the silky bed sheets.

After a moment or two of comfortable silence, filled only by the sound of each other’s breathing, Vorsa finally pulled herself from Beau’s loose embrace, rising from the bed.

“Will that be all? Or do you wish me to stay for another hour?” She asked, picking her negligee up from the floor, inside outing it, and putting it back on.

Beau let out a quiet noise of protest at the loss of warmth and shifting of weight on the bed. “Nah, it’s okay, you can go.” She said drowsily, rubbing her face in her hands and stretching her body, feeling a new, pleasant tension in her muscles. “Should I, uh, tip you now, or…” Beau began, trailing off as she realized how dumb she must sound. Fuck all if she knew how this kind of thing was supposed to go.

Vorsa, to her credit, just let out a small laugh and moved back towards where Beau was now propped up on her elbows, looking at her with those bright, youthful blue eyes. She really was a vision, this troubled young woman, with her dark hair, tousled and messy, falling just past her shoulders, her tanned skin and lithe form glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. “Do not trouble yourself by getting up,” Vorsa assured her, bending down to bring her face level with Beau’s, before the other woman dropped her gaze, reaching for a coin purse on the bedside table. 

Vorsa gave Beau a cautious look as a small handful of silver pieces was pressed into her hand. “Typically, we are not allowed to accept gifts from, ah, patrons,” She began. Her voice was slow and almost questioning, but she made no attempt to hand the coin back over. Vorsa knew to air on the side of caution when it came to additional transactions with customers, but scanning the expression and demeanor of her companion, she did not sense any sort of ill-intent or trickery behind her actions. “So we will keep this between the two of us, yes?” She said with a smile, coin in one hand, the other tucking a strand of Beau’s hair that fell over her face behind her ear.

“Oh, yeah, sure, of course” Beau replied, inwardly enjoying the brief contact of Vorsa’s fingers on her face and head.“Thank you, uh, for this, Vorsa.” She was beginning to regret how inarticulate the liquor from earlier was making her.

Vorsa said nothing in reply, but gave Beau one last kiss, deep and open and passionate, only pulling away when she could feel Beau gasp for air against her mouth. “Goodnight, Beauregard.” She said, fixing her hair and walking to the door. “Try not to think too much tonight.” And with a creak of the wooden door and the gentle padding of graceful feet, Vorsa was gone.

Beau sighed deeply, closing her eyes, feeling her diaphragm expand and relax with air. She drew the sheets tighter around herself, the room already feeling colder without the warmth of Vorsa’s body next to her. Her neck, chest, and inside of her thighs felt raw and bruised where her companion had left hard, searing kisses. Beau basked in that feeling, along with the comfortable ache in her muscles and between her legs, as a wave of pleasant exhaustion hit her. As she drifted to an easy, dreamless sleep, Beau thought of nothing but the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Not of bodies on the street or cages or men on fire. Not of thunderstorms or soft, healing hands. Not of tarot cards or blood or a colorful coat on a post, dusted with snow, marking a small patch of overturned earth between two hills.

This was the closest thing to tranquility Beau had right now.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @technicolortidepods, if you feel so inclined


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